Father Christmas
by ManiacMotherland
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Carlisle looks back over his life and worries that he hasn't been a good father, or a good person in general. He gets a chance to once again prove that he is both. O/S, Post-Canon. M-rated for religious themes. Entry for TFA Secret Santa.


****Summary:** **On Christmas Eve, Carlisle looks back over his life and worries that he hasn't been a good father, or a good person in general. He gets a chance to once again prove that he is both. O/S, AU.

**Rating:** T for religious themes

****Written for:** **i'mrandomgirl for TFA Secret Santa contest, December 2011

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Twilight. But I do believe in love. And that we can all make the season so much brighter by caring. Merry Christmas, y'all!

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><p><strong>Father Christmas<strong>

"They will be here next year," Esme whispered as she stroked a strand of my yellow hair. "You can't blame Bella and Edward for moving to Chicago. I mean, with Nessie finally gone away to college, you had to know that this day was going to happen at some point. All your children are finally mated, leaving you with an empty nest and a bad case of the Christmas Eve blues."

I tried to fake a smile, but I was unable to force the expression, given my current mood.

I couldn't cry either, so I just stood there staring at my father's cross without talking.

"I can think of something that might take your mind off of it, handsome," Esme then cooed. "The house all to ourselves. We can get as rowdy as you want. And I know you, Carlisle Cullen, you like to get rowdy. So how about it? Race you to the top of the stairs? Last one naked has to reassemble the bed when we are done?"

A brief memory of recent intimacy with my wife, and I was shook out of my current stupor.

But I didn't want to be happy right then; I wanted to be in a bad mood. I just didn't want to do it there at home, where it would continue to hurt my beloved Esme's feelings.

"Nope! I mean, yes, beautiful one. Always. Always, with you. But not right now. Maybe later. Right now, I feel like a hard and fast run through the forest. Why don't you Skype with the kids while I am gone, and you can tell me all about it when I get back? Okay? Later! Love you!"

A few quick strides and I was out the side door and into the trees, faster than you could say "Edward Cullen."

Oh, Edward. My son, my precious oldest son. He was indeed fast. But that was in part because I never truly opened up and let loose my gift for speed when he was around.

I was a good father, and that meant I always let my kids win. Even when I could have easily beaten them with one hand tied behind my back.

_A good father_, I listened to my mind rumble away as my legs churned through the undergrowth. _That's what this is all about, isn't it, Carlisle? Have you or have you not been a good father? A righteous father? A kind father? Or have you, in spite of yourself, been the man who sired you?_

"No! That man was a monster!" I called out to the empty woodland. "I am a better man, a holier man, a more Christian man than my father ever was!"

_But why then do you still keep his cross upon the stairs of your home?_ _Why do you torment yourself with thoughts that—__by having children of your own—__you have only further perpetuated his own particularly hateful and misguided brand of entrenched belief?_

"They are not actually my children. I changed them, most of them anyway. Then I protected them until they were ready to leave the house with a mate, to establish an independent life."

_As does every good parent. And do not the individuals who reside in your coven, without force or coercion, call you Father? Or call you Husband? None call you either Brother or Son._

"I only sought to give them something better than the life that was given me. Including Esme."

_Again, as does every good parent. Or spouse. But why do you run away from that which you fear the most? Your father's Christian faith and how much it despises you—__a child of darkness, a bloodsucker, a vampire. And why run away from your guilt at condemning other souls, souls that you love, to the terrible retribution your father so often spoke of? You must face this, Carlisle._

My legs buckled underneath me. I stumbled and soon found myself on my knees like a soiled and unworthy petitioner in church, before the burning gaze of the Almighty.

"Christmas is always the hardest time for me, Oh Lord," I began. "But when the kids were still at home, I could keep the doubt out of my mind and focus on all the happiness around me."

Silence, only silence.

For some reason, my mental chastiser had left me alone to plead my case before God.

"It isn't like I haven't done good with my life. Only Jasper and Alice owe their immortality to someone else other than me or my progeny. And I have given those two a family so they are not lonely orphans roaming this world and committing sin because they didn't know any better. Fewer of your children have died, because of my actions. Hundreds and hundreds fewer. Perhaps even thousands."

The trees whistled a sad harmony together. I still had not spoken all my part, evidently.

I clasped my hands in front of me and tried once more to explain myself to my Maker.

"Furthermore, I have become a doctor, to control my bloodlust and pay my penance for those few people whom I have killed. Pray, Lord, do not remember me at my most violent. Remember at my most disciplined. I have chosen peace and mercy and kindness whenever possible, only electing warfare when it is thrust upon me and I cannot avoid it to save the ones that I love."

Still, a dearth of noise in the forest. Heavens, even the birds appeared to have fallen silent.

"Please, oh Lord. Please, dearest Lord. Do not punish my children for their father's sin. Just as I beg that you do not punish me for my father's sin. If indeed I have been Scrooge-ish with my affection. If indeed the chains of a misspent and uncharitable life hang upon me as they did Jacob Marley. If indeed I am to be burned in the brimstone and fire of hell for being a vampire. Then at least let me do some good on this Earth before I am eventually laid low in pain before thy most righteous judgment, oh Lord."

The small cry burst through the silence of the verdant land. My ears did not at first recognize the tone, thinking it was just the call of a bird. Or maybe a small woodland creature trapped and screaming out in its final moments of pain.

But, no, that was a human cry. A tiny little human cry. One of God's children was bawling its lungs out to the wide world, and I lifted up my head and answered the call.

I quickly moved in the direction of the sound, realizing that it might be miles and miles and miles away and that I should hurry.

The poor little being sounded like it was totally alone and utterly afraid. Probably completely hungry as well.

I came around the edge of a hill to find a small chapel that I knew, very well.

An older man and his wife kept a lonely vigil there, tending to the wounded of the forest and performing wedding services for anyone who wanted to be married to a loved one.

And I do indeed mean "anyone." As Christ himself would have asked of his true servants, to love without measure and without question and without ceasing.

The little child was miserably demanding warmth and comfort from the unfeeling universe, but as I looked into the stained glass window of the church, I could see that no one was home.

A note under the top turn of the bundling simply said, "I can't. I'm so sorry, but I just can't."

What kind of mother leaves a child out here in the middle of nowhere, I fumed. Without first checking to see if the minister and his wife have stayed in town for the holidays? Especially since there are various safe harbor laws at the local hospital, that allow mothers to drop off newborns without legal prosecution for abandonment? Not any kind of _real _mother, for sure.

I had bent down to retrieve the missive, but my thoughts had drifted away. Now the wee babe reached up and grasped me by the finger, warm skin wrapped around my cold flesh.

"Well, aren't you the little grabber, now?" I smiled at the infant.

The child in response gurgled with happiness. How strange it must be to go from being so bereft of hope to being so blithely content, within the space of a few seconds.

And I wasn't thinking of the baby. I suddenly felt ebullient. Joyous, mirthful, and full of hope.

I whisked the tyke up, into the lapel of the jacket I was wearing, and started to run straight back to my wife. Cold as my chest was, and so much like stone, the baby immediately stopped caterwauling and actually fell asleep as I chugged home.

"We can't keep it… here, let me check… we can't keep him, Carlisle!" Esme spoke in a hushed whisper, so as to not awaken the child. "People will come into our home and ask difficult questions, and we won't be able to answer them all, and then we will have to move again."

"We will have to move again anyway, dearest. Very soon. We have overstayed our time here in Forks by at least half a decade, while we prepared Nessie to become a normal young adult and go on with her life somewhere else. It is about time we leave here for a generation or two. And when we settle in our new home, what could be more natural for a woman as young as you to have a plump and mischievous baby boy to raise?"

"Oh, pooh, Carlisle, I am not _that _young," huffed Esme as she slapped me on the shoulder.

"To me, fair friend, you can never be old," I smiled, touching her on the elbow as I did.

"You know I hate it when you manipulate me with Shakespeare sonnets, honey," she sighed.

I shrugged off the complaint. "But did it work? Can we keep the child? Please, dearest wife? I promise to help with the diapers and the feeding and the teething and potty-training. I promise to be there when he talks, when he walks, when he falls, when he gets back up. I even promise to help with the sex talk when he finally hits puberty."

"Puberty? You mean… he is going to… age? Am I hearing you correctly, Carlisle? Grow up and grow old and die? This is the first completely human creature you have brought into our home. Not a vampire, not a werewolf, not a half-vampire bean sprout with red hair. But a real, live human. Are you sure that you are prepared for all the ramifications of this choice? For that matter, are you sure that the Volturi will let you raise the child as a human?"

Once again, I shrugged. It wasn't like I hadn't considered and discarded all of these concerns on my journey back home with the abandoned infant in my jacket.

"The Volturi keep human servants as secretarial staff, and as lures for the humans upon whom they feed. So, by my reasoning, they break their own laws. And I would like to see them attack us again. We beat them once in open battle, when Nessie was just a child, and we can do it again, if we have to. I am sure that our friends will come to our aid, like they did before. Besides, whoever has Bella on their side is going to win, hands down. There isn't a vampire around who is able to combat a shield of her magnitude."

Esme crossed her arms just under her bosom and shook her head side to side.

Clearly, she wasn't completely convinced yet.

"Plus, beloved one, I need to do this. For the sake of my immortal soul, if indeed I have one, I am compelled to do this. You see, I was out there in the forest, praying to God, asking for His forgiveness for just being me, when I heard the baby cry. And I can't help but think that this was a sign. That I must do this thing, raise an orphaned human child to honorable manhood, as a penance to the Almighty for the sin of being a vampire."

"You have nothing to repent for, my husband!" gasped Esme through her tears. "You are the most kind and decent and worthy man I have ever met! I don't care if you are one of the so-called undead, and neither should God! It's not like you had a choice in what you became! The only thing that matters is what you have done since then."

"Which is to make a house full of undead, just like myself. I can rationalize, sweetheart, by telling myself that they all would have died without my interference. But that is the point. They _ought _to have died. Even you, my love. That is the natural order. That is God's order. Anything else is open defiance to His law. Anything else is blasphemy. Indeed, I have become akin to Lucifer. I have challenged God, claiming I know more in my small-minded ignorance than He does in all His glorious majesty and wisdom. I deserve nothing less than damnation for all my arrogance."

"No! No! No!" Esme sobbed. "I won't believe it. I can't believe it. You are… a… good… man."

I took my partner in my arms and comforted her, at least until her tears had subsided somewhat and she was not wracked with the pain of thinking the man that she loved was evil.

"But there is a way back to heaven, and I have been on that path for years, Esme. I cannot change who I am, and I cannot change what I have done. But I can offer up a human child to God, and maybe that good deed alone will be enough to stay his holy judgment. If nothing else, the young man will lead a blessed life in the meantime, wanting for nothing instead of dying alone from exposure, out there on the steps of a lonely and forsaken mountain chapel."

Esme lifted her eyes to look at me, and I could see it, plain as day. Such tenderness was in those gentle pools of golden light. She wanted this child as much as I did. She had just needed a little push to get over the shock of me showing up on the doorstep with an unexpected Christmas gift.

"I'm not saying yes, Carlile," she spoke gently. "But we can't keep calling the child 'it' or 'him'. The boy needs a proper name, even if we surrender him to the authorities. So what will it be? You found him, so it is only fitting that you name him. What shall we call our strange and yet awesome Christmas gift?"

I wiped away a few teardrops from her lovely rosy cheeks, then stroked her berry-colored lips with my thumb as I thought about what having a baby around would do to our normally rambunctious sex life.

Not as much sex for us, for a while, that was for certain. So be it.

A child was worth it, I decided. Especially a human child who one day we could leave with a babysitter and then escape on a perfectly normal "date night" like other—mortal—parents.

"You are the paragon of all gracious women, Esme Cullen," I said as I took her once again in my arms. "And, since it is my choice, we shall name the boy after the season, and after the faith of my father. As judgmental and destructive as his particular brand of the religion was, he still was a man of God and I wish to honor the best part of his character—the part of him that believed that there were things more important than you and me. Like love. Like sacrifice. Like duty. Which is why, as the young man's father, I have decided that for now and the rest of his mortal life, that he shall be known as Christian."

"And God bless us, every one," was the response. "Now, please go tell all your children the news about their newest sibling, Father Christmas."


End file.
